Forty Four Sunsets
by orangesunset12
Summary: Dick doesn't need time to relax or take a 'breather', thank you very much. He's doing perfectly fine on his own. (Bruce is gone, anyway. He hasn't got much of a choice).


_"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"_

 _And a little later you added:_

 _"You know- one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."_

 _"Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"_

\- _The Little Prince_

* * *

Dick has a plan.

And it's a good plan, if he does say so himself. Laid out in the neatest list he could possibly write with shaking hands.

At precisely 7:00, he will arise for a new, sunny day. A 10-minute trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth, take a quick shower, and relieve himself later, he'll be in the kitchen by 7:15 to eat a hearty breakfast. Saying goodbye to Damian with a little kiss on the cheek (and a duck, so he doesn't get decked too hard), he'll be bound for Wayne Enterprises by 7:45. Fast forward through a whole day of receiving condolences and signing forms, he'll take the train and watch the city zoom by as night crawls across the sky. The remaining traces of the day will be spent with Damian, training, playing, watching Disney movies that he knows Dami secretly loves.

Then the night- donning the cowl, flying, a bat in the moonlight. He would wind it down at dawn, send Robin to bed if it's a school night, and go through the case files down in the cave. And maybe, possibly, some sleep could fit in too, if he felt like it.

Okay, so it's more like a schedule than a plan. That didn't really matter- what matters is what it would do for Dick, which is keep him busy. Busy enough that he can barely relax, so he doesn't have to think. He doesn't have to grieve.

He knows he can't hide from his problems, but he can at least run.

So that's what he's doing now. Letting the days slip by like water through his fingers. Yes, he's wasting time, wasting everything, but it hurt less this way.

And he'd give anything to stop hurting.

* * *

"Grayson?"

Dick paused in the middle of moving his car. He was clearly losing this game of Monopoly anyway, with Damian buying off almost 90% of the board (curse his entrepreneurial genes!). He finished off his move before looking up.

"Yeah? Something wrong?"

"No. It's just... we watched a movie in class today."

Dick laughed. "Dami, watching movies in class is totally normal. You might be the only kid I know who doesn't like it."

"It's not that!" Damian was blushing furiously. "I am aware of its educational purposes, Grayson. Would you let me finish?"

"Sorry, sorry. Please continue."

"The movie was about a little girl who lost her father. And... well..." Damian hesitated. "...You are a lot like a little girl."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "You started this conversation to tell me I act like a little girl?"

"No!" He scowled. "I mean... are you sad?"

"What?"

"The girl in the movie was sad, for a very long time. You do not do anything that suggests sadness, but Ms Worth said that people look sad in different ways. So I was wondering..."

"If I was sad. Because of Bruce."

Damian nodded, uncertain. He had never been one for emotional conversations, and to be frank, right now neither was Dick. He was perfectly fine, he wanted to say, because he had a plan, and it was a good plan. A plan that was so far working so Damian didn't have to worry, okay?

But he didn't say it. Still, now, Dick doesn't know why.

"It doesn't matter," he said instead. "Let's finish the game already! Back To The Future 2 is just sitting there on the table!"

Damian frowned. "But you told me it does matter. You said that how people feel is more important than what people say or do."

Dick smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "So you do listen to me. Look, it's just- there's a lot to be done, with Batman and Wayne Enterprises and- well, there's no time to be sad."

Damian simply stared at Dick, eyes wide and piercing. A beat passed, then two, and Dick prayed to God that he wouldn't push him. Dick knew there was a large probability that he would shatter to pieces.

"...We should start watching the movie," Damian remarked as casually as he could. "Patrol will start soon, and I have already achieved victory in this ridiculous game an hour ago."

Dick grinned, moving forward to ruffle Damian's hair. This was how they dealt with their problems, since the beginning. Ignoring them.

And maybe once upon a time Dick had tried to prevent that, to open up and heal in a way that was healthy, or normal.

But Dick was tired.

And they were never normal.

* * *

Dick winced as Alfred threaded the needle carefully through his skin. He watched it leap up and down, up and down, like a fish diving through water. It reminded him of Larry, the goldfish Bruce had gotten him during his first year at Wayne Manor.

Ah, Larry. A toilet flush had never been more devastating.

"There you are, Master Dick. All patched up and ready to have a good night's rest."

Dick sent his ever-faithful butler a grin. "Thanks Alfie. You're the best, as always."

Hopping off the bed, he winced as the force of the floor worked its way up to his shoulder. He rolled it around carefully before continuing to walk, bare feet echoing in the vast cave. He absent-mindedly found himself walking towards the memorial display case. It loomed before him, shrouded in the shadows.

The bright colours of Robin seemed out of place in the darkness. It was strange, really- there was a time when this case only represented grief, and sorrow. Of honouring a dead bird. Now that Jason was back, it was different. It meant the triumph of death. It meant the briefness of love.

It meant Bruce's inability to let go, to move on, to find a way to reconcile loss with life.

It's funny. Bruce was gone, and now Dick was more like Bruce than he had ever been.

"Contemplating, are we?"

Dick's heart jumped out of his chest. "Jesus, Alfred, you scared me."

"My apologies," Alfred said drily. He materialised next to Dick, gazing down at the plaque. "I believe I have informed you of the benefits of sleeping?"

"I was going upstairs, Alf, believe me. I just got a little... sidetracked, that's all."

"Well, I suppose this is as good an opportunity as any."

Dick turned to shoot him a quizzical look. "An opportunity? For what?"

Alfred hesitated, and Dick's stomach was sent plunging down into a whirlpool. Alfred only hesitated with bad news, and really, how much more bad news could Dick take?

"What is it?" he pressed, because waiting made everything worse.

The old man sighed, suddenly seeming a lot more like his age. "The memorial was put up to honour Master Jason's demise, to remember him. Now, with... with Master Bruce gone, perhaps we should do the same for him."

Dick blinked. While that was a lot better than bad news, it wasn't what Dick had expected at all. He gulped as he considered what Alfred was proposing.

"You want to... make a memorial case? For Bruce?"

"I do. Is there something wrong with that?"

Dick felt like his world was spinning. He should've said no, there was nothing wrong with that, because there wasn't. But his chest hurt at the thought of something so... permanent. It was a reminder that would pin him down, stop him from running.

"Yes- I mean, no, but- there's just a lot going on right now, you know? Maybe some other time."

"Master Dick..." Alfred said sorrowfully.

And there it was, the pity, the stupid sympathy that he didn't want or need. It tore him up because it was his job to keep the others happy, to be the light in the darkness, and now he was making them sad instead. He hated it, he hated it so much.

"Master Dick," Alfred repeated. "If you wish to talk about it-"

"I don't. There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine-"

"You most certainly are not!" Dick flinched and backed away. "Please... I have already lost my son. I do not want to lose anyone else."

"You won't lose me," Dick reassured quietly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Alfred gave him a look, but Dick ignored it. "Anyways, I should probably go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Alfred."

"Goodnight, Master Dick," he said softly.

Dick ascended the stairs, leaving Alfred in darkness.

* * *

He sat on the edge of the rooftop, waiting for his stalker to catch up to him.

The cool wind blew on the bottom part of his face. Dick wasn't used to having so much of his face covered, not as either Robin or Nightwing, and he supposed that was just another sign that Batman had never been meant for him.

Not that he had a choice. Choices seemed to be scarce these days.

He rolled his injured shoulder as the footsteps got louder, and Dick looked up to shoot a grin at Red Hood. His guns glistened in the night sky.

"Hey," Dick said, looking down at the city. Now that he opened his mouth, he found he had nothing to say.

"Hey," Jason replied, voice monotone. He took a seat next to Dick, but still put distance between them.

"So, what brings you to my side of Gotham? If I recall correctly, you shot at me the last time I came over to yours."

Jason looked away. "I was in a bad mood that day."

"Like you're ever in a good one," Dick joked, although perhaps it was a little too true to be funny. "Still, if you wanted to hang out with me, you could've just asked."

There was a scoff from underneath the helmet. "In your dreams, Golden Boy."

"So why'd you follow me all the way here? Unless that was supposed to be silent sneaking, which it wasn't."

"Maybe I was going to kill you."

"But maybe not, right?"

Jason shrugged. He had always been the brother Dick had least been able to read, or maybe the one who had closed himself off the most. In their world, it was either push everyone away or be vulnerable, and it was obvious what Jason chose.

"It's nice to see you, anyway," Dick remarked.

"Yeah." Jason let the silence settle between them. "I actually, uh... wanted to talk."

Dick's head shot up. "You what?"

"It's not that surprising," he snapped.

"Really? Have you met yourself? You're the last person to want to talk!"

"Whatever!" He growled. "Maybe I don't want to talk after all."

Dick shoved him lightly. "I was just kidding, Little Wing. Fire away."

Jason sighed, deep and long. "The kid's worried about you."

"Da- Robin?" Dick blinked. "He's been talking to you?"

"Well, it was more of a threat. He said 'talk to Grayson or I'll murder you in your sleep, Todd,' or something like that."

Dick's hands clenched tighter around the edge of the roof. "Oh. Well, he's just being paranoid. There's nothing to worry about."

"Alfred's worried too." Jason looked at him. "You can't tell me they're both wrong, can you?"

"Jason, what do you want me to say?"

"Anything." He sighed. "Tell me the truth."

"I'm fine."

"That's not the truth."

"I can't do this right now," Dick said, standing up. "Especially not with you."

"What do you mean, 'especially not with me'?"

"Look, Jay, you can't tell me I'm any worse off than you-"

"No, Dick, I can. At least I admit I'm messed up."

"I'm not messed up!"

"Really!" Jason was standing now, too, and Dick hated not seeing his face. "You're getting pummelled out there, look at your shoulder! You were never this reckless before, and you're hurting them too, you-"

"Don't talk about being reckless! Don't talk about hurting them! Don't talk like you're not doing it, too!"

"It doesn't matter what I'm doing! You're Batman, so act like it!"

"I'm trying!" Dick took a shuddering breath. "I'm trying. What... what do you think Bruce would've done, huh? Let people fix him? Talk about his problems?!"

Jason punched a vent. It dented, forming a concave 'C'. "I didn't... I didn't mean..." He sighed. "You're such an idiot."

Dick choked on a laugh, feeling the tears form in his eyes. "Takes one to know one."

Red Hood sat back down on the roof, legs crossed, not inviting Dick to sit down but not barring his way. "It's different for you and me. You know that. I'm the one who's reckless and broken and angry, and you're..."

"The Golden Boy."

"It- it wasn't an insult."

"It's not," Dick conceded. "It's just a lie."

Jason breathed out a long suffering sigh. "Dick, I know things are... not great right now. For any of us, and especially for you. And I know you're just trying to do what Bruce would do, but let's be honest, you're not Bruce. And right now, I'd really rather you be Dick Grayson."

Dick's lips tugged into a smile. "Are you saying you love me?"

"What- no! I'm just saying that I tolerate you a slight bit more than Bruce, which is not an achievement at all."

He chuckled, leaning his head against Jason's shoulder. "Thank you."

"Whatever," Jason huffed, turning his head away. "I only did this 'cause I didn't want the Demon Spawn to kill me."

"Sure, sure."

"What, you think I care about you? You really are delusional."

"Yeah, but that's why you love me."

Jason groaned. "Stop."

Dick smiled, feeling content for the first time in a while. They stayed like that for the rest of the night.

* * *

The door creaked open and a sliver of light melted across the floor.

Dick could see Damian's head shoot up, eyes piercing the heavy darkness. He relaxed once he recognised his older brother, sagging back into the soft sheets, shifting over to make some room.

Dick made his way across silently, plopping himself down on the now-vacated left side of the bed. The mattress sank underneath him.

He turned over towards Damian, lying his head on the pillow. It was an unspoken rule that, in the case of nightmares, their beds were open for each other no matter what. Nothing really needed to be said- just the warmth, the feeling of someone there, someone to hold.

But this time Dick was here to say something. To change something.

"I am sad."

And there was a lot more to be said, of course, because it wasn't just sadness- it was anger, pain, loss, regret, disappointment, suffocation, despair- the wish that things had happened differently, or never happened at all. The wish that it he had been able to save Bruce. Wishes that changed nothing.

He heard Damian sigh, a sound far beyond his years.

"Me too."

Dick turned over to gaze at the ceiling. He supposed it should make him happy, that he wasn't the only one upset, that he wasn't alone. But it just made him feel worse. He just wanted everyone to be happy, but he was starting to think that was asking for too much.

"Do you wish it was me?"

"What?"

"Do you wish it was me that died, instead of Bruce?"

Damian was deathly silent for a few minutes. Dick immediately felt a surge of guilt, because how could he ask a child that kind of question? Did Dick even know the answer to it himself?

"I... At the beginning... maybe." Dick closed his eyes, as Damian paused. "But not now. Father... Father would've never played Monopoly with me, would he? He would never have forced me to watch inane movies, or sing along to Disney songs. Those are things that only you can teach me, Grayson. And... Father would've never given me Robin. We both know that."

Dick's heart squeezed as he took in the sincerity of the words, the gratefulness that Damian was speaking with, all the while remembering that in order to give him Robin he had had to take it from someone else.

It seemed like the world was designed with a finite amount of happiness, and there was never enough to go around.

"I love you, Damian," he said quietly.

Damian said nothing, but shifted closer, and that was answer enough.

* * *

He breathed out into the orange sky. The sun was dipping low behind the skyscrapers, and he could feel the night air preparing itself to swoop upon the city below. He had always loved high places- which was no surprise, considering he spent most of his life flying- but the roof of Wayne Manor had always been special. It was a place where he could be free and at home at the same time, and sometimes all he needed was a little peace and quiet.

He gripped the phone in his hand, his thumb moving over the screen silently.

It hadn't been hard to get Tim's number, not when he had actually been searching for it. Stephanie had kept in touch (they had always had a sort-of-lovers-but-not-really relationship) and she had been eager to give it over.

'Finally,' she had said. 'I was wondering when you would get over yourself and just talk to him.'

Well, according to Jason, talking had always been his specialty. Maybe not recently- there had been too much to say, and not enough courage to say them- but once upon a time, he could have gone on and on about anything he wanted. He could have talked about baseball, or rooftops, or the way Bruce played the piano on his good days, or the sunsets over Gotham, or Justin Bieber's latest hits, or his vague memory about being half asleep on Bruce's lap and feeling safer than he had ever felt.

Sometimes, when there were no more words to say, he switched to action. A hug, a kiss, a ruffle of the hair. Ways to say 'I love you' without saying it. And sometimes it said more than that, it said 'you're an idiot' and 'what were you thinking?' and 'don't ever leave me again'. But it always said I love you, even when he couldn't say it aloud.

He dialled the number and held his breath.

 _"Hello?"_

"Don't hang up."

There was a slight intake of breath at the other end. _"...Dick? Is that you?"_

"Yeah, it's me." Dick felt old all of a sudden. "I wanted to see how you were.

 _"...I'm fine."_

"That's good."

 _"Why did you call me?"_ The suspicion leaked through the phone. _"Did something happen?"_

"No, nothing happened- I mean, nothing bad. Tim-"

 _"I'm not coming back."_

Dick winced, as if slapped by the wind. He knew that, that wasn't what he had been going to say, but it didn't hurt any less. "No. I know... I know you're not coming back." To me, he wanted to say, but he didn't.

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Tim was waiting for him.

"When Bruce died," he started hesitantly, "I was- I- I was sad. I mean, I was more than sad, it was so much so fast and I was left with so little-" He took a deep breath. "And... it took me so long to understand that he was gone. Not- not other-side-of-the-galaxy gone, but really gone. So far gone it was like he never existed in the first place."

 _"But he's not dead, Dick, he's-"_

"And when you said he wasn't dead, it was like opening that wound all over again. It hurt so bad, Tim- I don't even know how to describe it. I just wanted it to stop: I hated you, I hated Bruce, and above all I hated myself. So I... I didn't listen to you. I shut you out. I'm sorry."

The silence stretched on for a painful minute, until Tim sighed deeply into the phone. _"You should've told me,"_ he said, his voice tinged with a foreign emotion. _"I knew- I knew something was up, Dick, but you should've told me."_

"I was trying to pretend everything was fine. And I know that was stupid- I know that now- but I never wanted you to hear me like this. Remember when you were young, and you asked me if I was immortal? I- I wanted to be that Dick Grayson. I wanted to be invincible."

 _"...You didn't have to,"_ Tim whispered. _"I'm not a kid anymore. Dick... if you had just told me... I might've stayed."_

"It doesn't matter now," Dick said.

 _"No, it does. You know... no matter what happens between us, no matter how far away I am... you can still talk to me."_

"That goes for you too, Tim. You're still my baby brother, wherever you are."

 _"Yeah. You know, Dick... I really miss you."_

"Me too. I wish you were here- the sunsets over Gotham are always the best."

 _"It's sunset here, too. And personally I always hated the sunsets over Gotham, you could never see anything above the buildings."_

"Yeah, I guess you're right." A comfortable silence settled over them.

 _"Dick?"_

"Yeah?"

 _"It's going to be okay, isn't it?"_

He thought about Bruce, and his grave, and everything in between. He knew he could only tell the truth.

"Yeah," Dick smiled. "It is."

* * *

 **Okay, yes, I've been dead for centuries. But I've been working on this for quite a while, and I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please like/follow/review (I love reading reviews, they really make my day)! I would also be open to any suggestions you'd have, just PM me. Hope you all are having a lovely day!**


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